


crazy little thing called love

by ghostlysleuth



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls World Tour (2020)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Depression, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, Fluff, Jealousy, Kinda?, Long-Distance Friendship, Misunderstandings, Musical Venting, Pining, Post-Break Up, Post-Trolls World Tour, Songfic, Touch-Starved, barb finds redemption, it's a musical folks!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlysleuth/pseuds/ghostlysleuth
Summary: Barb made Poppy a promise when she left Pop Village, to keep in touch. There’d been worry evident on her face when she’d taken Barb’s rough hand in her soft one and asked if she’d meant it when she said they could be friends. There’d been so much care in her touch, in her eyes. As much as she wanted to say no, rip away, and tell her that she was better off keeping away, Barb couldn’t say no to her.So she’d stayed true to her word.If she’s being honest--likereallyhonest--with herself, it’d all started with Poppy. She was the one who had the guts to stand up for everyone, taken what she’d learned, and unite the Trolls successfully. She’d prevailed where Barb had fallen, and rightfully so.She’d been so quick to prove Barb wrong in her comparison of the two of them and that’s probably what Barb likes most about her.Though...there’s certainly a lot to like about Poppy.--Barb returns at last from a two-year long conquest to right her wrongs against Trollkind to attend the first ever Unification Festival in Pop Village. When she does, she can't seem to shake her growing feelings toward the Queen of Pop.
Relationships: Poppy/Barb (Trolls)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 79





	crazy little thing called love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! this is the first fanwork i've posted in a LONG while. and go figure, it's for trolls. definitely the last thing i expected.
> 
> i'd like to preface this by saying that this chapter (and likely the next because i had to split this one in two for being so LONG) will contain quite a bit of exposition and introspection on barb's part. it's set two years after the events of trolls world tour and there's a lot to cover. this fic was conceptualized to take place AFTER barb's apparent redemption arc; i'll likely write other works specifically about the arc but that's for the future.
> 
> also, most (if not all) of the chapters will have a song either thematically attached to them or works JUST enough to twist the meaning depending on the context. i wanted to incorporate the musical aspect of trolls into this fic, because if i'm being honest, it's hard to divorce the two now. hopefully it works well; i honestly have NO CLUE.
> 
> the song for this chapter is [home sweet home by mötley crüe.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AP3yyqy4SKc)
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

“Well done, well done, my friend! _Beautiful!_ ” 

“Hey, couldn’t’ve done without you, bud.”

Barb wipes the sweat from her brow and stares triumphantly up at the Classical Trolls’ most sacred monument, the Metronome--the very last of Symphonyville’s landmarks to be repaired. It stands golden and brilliant against the pink-orange sky, illuminated by the sun in its descent. It sparkles, like much of Symphonyville, but the Metronome is different. It _glows_ beautifully.

It had been quite the sight before as well--but not in a good way. Barb remembers the state of it when she’d first come back to Symphonyville, the pendulum bent in several places, busted beyond repair, its base singed still from the fire of the Rock Trolls’ attack two years prior--or more accurately, _her_ attack. It’d broken her to see it that second time and it hurt even more to remember how much she’d enjoyed bringing it down. It had all been a blur of adrenaline and chaos and rage and she couldn’t stop herself back then. That was the worst part.

Trollzart had told her, stone-faced and cold and boring straight through her soul, when they began work what the monument meant to the Classicals. It had been a symbol of their harmony, an ever-present reminder of their unity as a tribe, a culture. It represents everything they hold dear in their society.

Though he’s half her size, she’d felt far smaller than him that day.

Back then, she didn’t get it; Rock Trolls don’t have that sort of thing. They’re chaos incarnate and have been for decades.

And she could tell that that was all he saw when he stared her down.

Now, Trollzart looks at her with bright excitement, fidgeting his chubby hands together.

“W-Would you care to do the honors?” the cherub asks politely but shakily, usually much more composed. He’s trembling with excitement, hardly able to contain himself.

“Aw, no,” Barb says with a grin, waving a dismissive hand, “This is y’all’s thing, man. You should do it.”

Flattered and quite overjoyed, Trollzart looks as if he might cry. “I--W-Well, if you insist! Come, my friends!” Barb watches Trollzart and a team of about thirty other Classical Trolls flutter up and up and _up_ until they reach the very top of the pendulum. Together, they flatten themselves against one side of the large, round sliding weight and _push_. The pendulum leans easily.

Around her, the gathered crowd of Classical and Rock Trolls alike, workers in the restoration and civilians both, clap and cheer.

Barb can’t help but whistle as she watches the tiny Trolls push and push until the angle is _just right._ And then, with Trollzart’s shout of “Now, my friends!” the Trolls zip away, and the pendulum begins to move in the opposite direction it was pushed. Barb can only marvel at it, as it begins its intended perpetual motion, back and forth and again and again, slow and mighty. 

The crowd roars at the Metronome’s rebirth. A wave of shimmering gold encircles the monument as the Classicals swarm their beloved icon. The Rock Trolls jump, raise their fists and horns, bang their heads, and screech in celebration.

A smile makes its way onto Barb’s face. This sort of smile feels foreign. She’d felt it before when the Trolls had reunited for the first time in forever. It's the sort of smile she’d loved to see on her dad’s face when she was a kid. It's the sort of smile that, for her, is usually accompanied by misty eyes.

She’s _proud_.

And she finally _gets it_.

Trollzart is quick to come zipping back down to the ground, laughing as he does; Barb quickly blinks her tears away, sniffling lightly.

“Isn’t she a sight!?” Trollzart laughs, doing loop-de-loops in the air before her. 

Barb laughs too as he flies around her happily. “ _Yeah_ , man! She rocks!” She throws up a pair of horns.

He comes to hover in front of her. “I have to say, my friend, I was apprehensive before, but you were right! Leaving the Metronome for last was a brilliant idea!”

“It was nothin’, man, the least I could do.” She rubs the back of her head coyly.

“I must give credit where it is due,” Trollzart says humbly, eyes drawn to the monument once more. “Seeing her move again has reignited our spirit. Our bond as a people.” 

Together, they watch their peoples celebrate and dance about, as the sun lowers little by little. Soon, the instruments are brought out, in streams of gold from their homes and rivers of gray and black and red from the Angler Buses, and they begin to play their music, together. 

This isn’t the first time the Classicals and the Rockers have collaborated; _that_ occurrence (after the Unification, of course) came about maybe two months into the restoration of Symphonyville. The Classicals had still been wary of the Rock Trolls, even as they’d worked together to rebuild. But, one night, as work was being wrapped up, the Classicals had brought out what instruments they had left to brighten the low mood with music. The Rock Trolls, who’d had the tendency to thrum quietly in their free time to respect their companions’ boundaries, decided to push their luck and play louder in something of a playful manner. 

What came out of it was a sort of duel--a tug of war of volumes, that eventually metered out into a ballad of astronomical proportions. It was _loud_ and _new_ and... _exhilarating_. It brought out something in both groups that they hadn’t found in their respective music before.

It was _rad_.

And it still is. What they’d once hesitated to do comes so easily now.

(Trollzart would admit later--quite reservedly--that _now_ he could see the appeal in their loud wild music. Barb could only laugh, slap his back, and admit the same of his wordless, elegant style.)

As they play away, Barb can’t help but ruminate on their differences, in...well, _everything_. The average troll in the Troll Kingdom who lived in a pre-”World Tour from Hell” world would say that a Classical and a Rock Troll would never and could never get along. Not in music, not in concept, and definitely not in company. It'd been a miracle that they were able to reach this point in history--Rock and Classical not only standing side-by-side but intermingling, sharing festivities and parts of their culture.

Oh, she’d been so _wrong_ two years ago. Their differences are beautiful, and when they come together, in peace with one another, it’s monumental.

She’s regretted that world tour everyday since.

Barb peeks over at Trollzart, rubs the back of her head again. “Hey...Trollzart.”

“Yes, my friend?”

She sighs. “Listen. I...I know I musta said it a million times by now but I’m really--”

“Oh, hush. Hush now, Barbara.” His tone is chiding, but he has a coy smile on his face as he looks over. “You’ve done more than enough to earn my forgiveness.”

“But--” It can’t be enough, it’ll _never be enough_ \--

“You set out to right your wrongs and you have. Not just for me, but for every tribe in the Troll Kingdom. Techno, Country, and Classical alike have all been restored and rather quickly, might I add, due to your efforts.” He chuckles and places a hand to Barb’s shoulder. “What’s more is you feel the weight of your actions. I know you mean it when you say you’re sorry. You’ve proven it well and good, and that is enough for me.”

Tears well in her eyes once more. Her head droops low. She has her doubts--and God knows they always persist--but it certainly helps when she's told to lose them. She couldn’t ask for a better friend. 

Snuffling, Barb rubs at her eyes with her wrist. “I know you’re like a bajillion years older than me, but do you really gotta flex it?”

“ _Have_ to,” he corrects, crossing his arms with a triumphant smile. “And yes, I do. Now then, I know you’ve been dying to--eh--how did you say it? Take a lap?”

Her ears perk up at that. Trollzart had somehow manifested a microphone from his tiny sleeves and is now leaning it Barb’s way, even waving it a bit. 

She peers back to the crowd of rowdy Trolls; though they're none the wiser, the sight of them beckons her, fuels her desire to perform.

Her face splits into a grin.

Grabbing the mic, she scrubs a hand over her face, shakes the sappiness from her hard rock core, and dashes into the crowd, fire blazing in her chest. The masses welcome her, cheers rising when she leaps into the crowd and is carried over wave after wave of Rock and Classical Trolls alike to the Angler Bus. She pounces up, and swings from spike to spike till she emerges at the top.

She pumps a fist into the air; the crowd cheers her name. _Barb, Barb, Barb!_ She signals for a new song. A pianist plays something soft and righteous that gets her head bobbing, and a guitarist joins in, strumming in tandem.

And she begins to sing wholeheartedly:

_“You know I'm a dreamer, but my heart's of gold. I had to run away high, so I wouldn't come home low.”_

More musicians join in. Strings play and woodwinds are blown, adding to the flow of the music. Barb continues, low and sincere,

_“Just when things went right, it doesn't mean they were always wrong. Just take this song and you'll never feel left all alone.”_

The music swells splendidly and so does Barb’s heart.

_“Take me to your heart, feel me in your bones...Just one more night! And I'm coming off this long and winding road.”_

The drums kick in on all sides. Her voice grows louder and when it does, she can hear a thousand voices sing with her. And as the chorus hits just right in her ears, her blood begins to boil red hot.

_“I'm on my way, I'm on my way! Home sweet home!”_

The most delicious riff hits her, the drums preparing to double back and repeat the chorus. Barb skids to her knees, shoves a pair of horns skyward, and sings her heart out.

 _“Tonight,_ **_tonight_ ** _, I'm on my way, I'm on my way!_

_Home sweet home!”_

* * *

Barb stumbles off the roof of the Angler Bus five songs later, each more wild than the last, raw-throated and dizzy from the high of singing for a crowd of thousands. She just barely catches herself on the zipper of the Angler’s mouth. It was definitely the pick-me-up she’d needed in the moment, but maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to couple a long day’s work with a set like that.

...Aw, who is she trying to kid? She couldn’t resist putting on a show.

It’s dark now and the crowd is in the process of dissipating, funneling into the grand dining hall where Trollzart is starting to direct them. Ears ringing, she hadn’t quite caught why he was guiding them in that direction but she had a feeling he’d be repeating it any--

“Barbara!”

Speak of the devil.

Barb shakes her head furiously to get the ringing out. “Yeah, buddy?” Though she’s squeezing her eyes shut, she can feel him zipping about. Oh. He’s chattering about...something. Her ears suddenly sort themselves out. “Wha’ wazzat, bro?”

“A feast! A feast!”

“Uh...feast?”

“Indeed! It shall be in your honor.” He’s got his hand gripping at his lapels, ever so proud of himself. She can tell he came up with the idea himself.

“Uhh, count me out of this one, man. I’m pooped. Thoroughly.” She stretches backward, grunts at the several pops her back makes. “Don’t let me stop you though. You guys really know how to party!”

Trollzart doesn’t look so certain anymore. “Er--Well, if you insist.” 

Barb hops up and manages to get an arm around him. “Yep. Why should it be in my honor anyway? There’s lots of Rockers in there who deserve it, and Classicals too. Go on, have fun without me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Trollzart acquiesces, smiling. “Good night, my friend.”

“Night, Trollzart dude.” With a flick of a wave over her shoulder, she hops into the Angler’s mouth and it zips up behind her.

* * *

Barb throws herself back against one of the sofas, heaving the heaviest sigh she’s ever heaved. She practically claws a hand down her face, shuddering as she finally attempts to fully relax. 

For once she can be glad that the Angler Bus is entirely empty. (Hell, she’s surprised she hasn’t wanted it to be empty before. The silence is so soothing, especially after all _that_.) Her gang may love lazing around but they can also dig a good party. And despite appearances and preconceived notions, the Classicals sure can throw one. They love their drinks and disgustingly unhealthy foods just like everyone else.

Barb pulls her arms back to rest her head on them. With everything-- _everything_ , she thinks, awestruck, _holy shit_ \--done in Symphonyville, she can’t help but look back to where she’d started.

It’s been almost two years since the World Tour. Since she’d emerged with an army of the hardest Rockers and invaded kingdom after kingdom in search for the ancient strings. Since she’d wrecked everything and everyone who got in her way. Since she’d tried to force every Troll in the Troll Kingdom to forsake their own music for hers. All to “unite” them in the only way she knew how...by stripping away their differences and making them the same.

Two years later, she can’t stand who she used to be. She was--and probably still is, albeit lesser than before, she likes to think--a _brute_. She’s the daughter of a man named Thrash who at one point in history ruled with an iron fist; it’s in her nature to be abrasive, a fact that she’d delighted in before but finds cruel now.

Poppy taking a stand against her had been a wake-up call, but it was only just a start. She had to face the music, both literally and figuratively. She’d listened to an entire stadium packed with all of Trollkind sing together, unshaken and undivided. It had shaken her to her core and she could only marvel for what felt like ages as they all came together and earned their colors back.

And what followed after that performance was almost as unexpected.

Cheerful as ever, Poppy had offered to take in a number of displaced trolls while they rebuild. The Pop Trolls had restored their own village remarkably quickly. (Poppy explained it away with a casual reference to them having multiple attacks in the past, which Barb found especially weird because they’d been isolated for so long.) Trollzart, Trollex, and Delta were incredibly grateful for her generous offer, casting glares loaded with malice toward Barb out of the corners of their eyes. Ashamed, she’d shrunken away. 

Though she’d thought to multiple times since the end of the Tour, there wouldn’t have been any way for her to offer the same for them. No way would they have trusted her after what she’d done, even when Poppy dragged her along to impromptu meetings with the other leaders to sort things out despite their untrusting looks. She’d smiled, patted her back, reassured her that things would be alright, they just need time, that _she_ forgave her (at least).

But Barb found she almost couldn’t stand the test of time with this. The guilt had been quick to consume her entirely. There’d been a time once, when she was younger, when she _wasn’t_ Queen, where she couldn’t have cared less about people’s uneasy looks and side-eyed glances towards her. But after the whole ordeal, it tore her apart.

She had to make a change.

Somehow she’d found the determination within her to act. A month after the Tour, Barb had sent letters to the leaders of the kingdoms she’d raided, expressing her shame and guilt over her actions and offering humbly to aid in the reconstruction of their homelands. She hadn’t blamed them for hesitating, of course. Three weeks had gone by before she’d heard any word back, but thankfully, they’d all agreed to her proposal.

The restoration began with Barb splitting up all her workers--there’d been a good number of people willing to help out--between the territories to achieve the work simultaneously. She stationed herself in Symphonyville, having committed the most damage there, but did the best she could to fly out to Lonesome Flats and Techno Reef as much as she could to check in and make sure things were going smoothly.

It...hadn’t been easy at first. No one really trusted Barb enough to cooperate on the same level, least of all the leaders. But she tried. She killed every instinct to make staunch eye contact, bare her teeth, even walk in the casual, sly way that she does to avoid startling them the way she had when they’d first met. She's a leader, like them, a _royal_ ; she hadn’t quite known how to be respectful in the way people are to leaders, but...she had to be. She wanted to make things right.

Slowly, very _slowly_ , they’d warmed up to her. At their own paces, they began to talk to her, rather than giving those incredibly clipped responses, laughed with her and shared their music. They opened up and eventually began to understand she needed guidance, as a Queen who’d been crowned at such a young age compared to them. 

(Delta and Trollzart would admit this to her, at different points in time. At both occasions, she’d felt pretty juvenile but would later come to appreciate it. Not that she’d never admit that.)

So they shared their philosophies and histories with her, and collaborated with her in the same way she had with the Classicals. They’d really opened her eyes to the qualities of their music--though country rock wasn’t her cup of tea, both it and synth rock had been something fascinating to hear spark between them. (Not only _that_ but dubstep is exactly the kind of loud, headbang-worthy, righteous noise she loves.)

They’d helped her grow to be more worldly, in a sense.

The silence in the Angler Bus is suddenly broken by the sound of its jaws unzipping and Barb’s eyes shoot open. She sits up groggily just in time to see Debbie flapping towards her. 

“Debbie!” Barb holds her arms out for Debbie to crash square into her chest. “I was wondering when you’d be back! Who’s a good girl, huh? Huh?” Debbie snarls affectionately. Barb rustles her wild hair, but when she pulls her hand back, it’s covered in pink heart-shaped glitter. She recoils a bit but finds her grin growing nonetheless. “Y’got somethin’ for me, girl?”

After a short, hasty search and cursory dusting of Debbie’s fur (“At least she toned it down this time, eh, Deb?”), she extracts a letter from Debbie’s feet. 

“ _Sweet_ ,” she whispers and tears it open with her teeth. She pulls out a large heart-shaped letter, covered in cut out shapes and glitter and pipe cleaners, same as every letter previous, flips it open, and begins to read the excitedly scrawled pink ink:

_Dear Barb,_

_I’m soooo glad to hear that you’re almost done with the restoration! Shoot me a letter once things get all wrapped up, I’d love to hear about your plans going forward._

_As for news in Pop Village, the pop punk scene is still going strong, especially among the teen Trolls. You were right; it’s not so bad once I got used to it! I’ve been getting into a few other fusions/variations of pop too, like pop rap (which APPARENTLY I already have experience with; WHO KNEW!) and K-Pop too! The K-Pop Gang have been SO GREAT since they settled here in Pop Village. They’re a neat group and I really dig their choreography!_

_OH, and Biggie reached his millionth portrait of Mr. Dinkles! Finally! We all took him out to celebrate._

Barb snorts fondly at her ramblings and rolls onto her stomach to get more comfortable.

_Speaking of Pop Village! I wanted to remind you: the first ever Troll Unification Festival is coming up soon, so if you haven’t saved the date, what’re you doing??? Save it already!!!_

Oh, she'd saved the date, alright. It was the _exact_ reason she even got a calendar in the first place. 

_I hope you finish in Symphonyville just in time to attend. I can’t wait to see you again!! It’s been so long! I’m already thinking of all the stuff we can do together to catch up!_

_Kisses,_

_Poppy_

_P.S.: Send me a pic of the Metronome with everyone if you can! I’ll put it up on my wall!_

Accompanying the text are little papercraft cutouts of Poppy and Barb together and a photo of Poppy posing with the K-Pop Gang. 

Barb chuckles. Another one for the collection. She hops up from the sofa and heads to her quarters in the back of the Angler, Debbie fluttering in behind her. 

It’s not the _best_ arrangement but it’s got a bed, walls perfect for sticking stuff on, a bean bag or two, and that’s good enough for. Not to mention, it’s come to be like a second home to her.

She peers at the wall next to her unkempt bed and looks over the assortment of photos taped in a haphazard array. Each of them were sent by Poppy personally in her letters. She doesn’t always send photos but when she does, Barb is sure to put them with the rest.

Barb made Poppy a promise when she left Pop Village, to keep in touch. There’d been worry evident on her face when she’d taken Barb’s rough hand in her soft one and asked if she’d meant it when she said they could be friends. There’d been so much care in her touch, in her eyes. As much as she wanted to say no, rip away, and tell her that she was better off keeping away, Barb couldn’t say no to her.

So she’d stayed true to her word. With Barb preoccupied with the restoration, they wouldn’t see one another for some time. Part of that made things easier. They’ve talked about everything and anything going on in their respective lives.

Barb takes solace in Poppy’s letters, especially in all the times where she’s been hard on herself, and likes to think Poppy does too. She’s provided a kind distraction from everything that’d been weighing on her and in turn, Barb attempts to do the same.

After wrangling a piece of tape from its roll, she finally sticks the photo in place next to the last one. She squints at it. Poppy and the K-Pop Gang were all posed in different, cutesy ways, with Poppy in particular flashing two peace signs on either side of a cheeky grin.

Barb can’t help but smile back.

If she’s being honest--like _really_ honest--with herself, it’d all started with Poppy. She was the one who had the guts to stand up for everyone, taken what she’d learned, and unite the Trolls successfully. She’d prevailed where Barb had fallen, and rightfully so.

She’d been so quick to prove Barb wrong in her comparison of the two of them and that’s probably what Barb likes most about her. 

Though...there’s certainly a lot to like about Poppy. 

Barb lies back on her bed, Poppy’s letter resting on her chest. Her face feels abnormally warm but she chalks it up to the temperature in the Angler Bus. Poppy is...bright. And funny. And full of surprises. She always manages to find a way to cheer her up, even through letters. She’s the kindest person Barb knows.

In an odd and foreign way, Barb needs Poppy.

Barb sits up ramrod straight at the thought, startling Debbie in her dark corner of the room. 

Well...so what? It definitely doesn’t feel _wrong_ to think that, but something doesn’t feel _right_ either. Of course, she needs Poppy; they’re _friends_! Friends need friends, and it shouldn't be weird to say so. 

Still, there's a tangible thumping in her chest at the train of the thought. Poppy tends to bring that out of her. Her chest had hammered on the stage of the Unification, pounded when she took her hand, thundered when she asked to keep in touch. Barb can’t explain it.

They’d become _so_ close. Barb doesn’t dare broach the subject but she thinks she’s come close to considering Poppy her _best_ friend. Though she’s so sure Poppy doesn’t feel the same way. Especially because of Branch.

Barb frowns, wrinkling her nose. 

_Branch_. 

Poppy’s boytoy. Her boy _friend_.

The thought of him puts a bad taste in her mouth--something _else_ she can’t quite explain. Maybe it was that scowl on his face when Poppy talked to her in person last. Maybe it’s that he’s the Troll who hates her the most for what she did. Maybe it’s because _he’s_ closest to Poppy and not _her_ \--

Barb launches herself off the bed. Nope. Absolutely not. No, she’s definitely not going _there_ again. 

She might as well have beamed herself from the Angler to the dining hall because she’s there in under ten seconds flat, surrounded by whooping Rockers and cheering Classicals, and chugging a foaming mug of sour ale to bury her intrusive thoughts away.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any thoughts, like the fic, don't like the fic, have some crits, lemme know in the comments! i'm not used to writing in this way so i'd appreciate feedback if ya have it.


End file.
